


One More Chance XIV

by DancingHare



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 18:01:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13440225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingHare/pseuds/DancingHare
Summary: Vassanta works in Outland and receives some bad news.





	One More Chance XIV

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published July 22, 2008

Vassanta held the vial of water carefully, tipping the end just enough to shake a few drops loose. They fell onto the dusty bones, and as before, she could see the faint shimmer in the air as the spirit was loosed from its prison. How much water was left? Not much, Vassanta realized with a frown, holding the tiny glass tube up. She’d never help all of them, and the few she had been able to save were of little consolation. They were still just as dead, their families just as shattered. But they seemed thankful, their presence lingering briefly overhead, perhaps saying their final goodbyes, before they went to join the naaru at last.

It had been a long few days, but facing the reality of their past was far more tiring than any of the fighting had been. Here it was more than words in a book, or stories around the fire, she could see the scars that the orcs had caused, the remnants of battle. She got to her hooves again, brushing the red dust from her armor. It was pointless, the stuff got into everything, driven by the wind and the stifling heat. Up ahead on the road was her main assignment; the demons were summoning in reinforcements using two portals.

The red earth was littered with them, and she stopped to assess the area. They were wrathguards mostly, along with some felguards and felhunters, a few doomwhisperers. Vassanta furrowed her brow in thought, trying to remember what the old Vindicator had told her about them. The wrathguards had fire magic, but she wouldn’t have to worry about the felhunters. She tied her mace to her belt and unstrapped her shield. Just in case, she thought grimly. Normally she didn’t use it, but here it would pay to be cautious, especially as she’d never faced this kind of demon before.

The old dwarf had said something about stones. Vassanta surmised that these were probably located inside of the demons. She sighted one of the wrathguards in her crossbow aim, and fired, the bolt lodging into the demon’s thigh. It roared, striding toward her at surprising speed. So these demons were agile, Vassanta noted, ducking a swipe from its claws, but not as agile as me. She darted between its legs, leaping over the demon’s tail, and her blade bit deeply into its heel. Howling in pain, the demon staggered backward, an aura of flame wreathing its clawed hands. Though she was more used to having two weapons, she was grateful for the extra protection that the shield offered from the demon’s scrabbling claws. The ground beneath her hooves burst into flame as the demon finished its spell, searing the sensitive underside. Just a few moments more, she was sure — she leapt back, trying to move out of the flames, and aiming for the demon’s other leg. Let him try and escape now, she thought, grinning grimly. Kestaan had been right, the wrathguards were fast but not terribly strong. The enormous demon crumpled beneath her blows at last, the flames licking over its body. She wiped the sweat from her brow, watching as the last of the wrathguard’s fire flickered and died. Where would a demon keep its runestone? She prodded at the thing’s head with her sword, uncertainly. She wasn’t even sure what it looked like.

Within the plate of its forehead, beneath its armor, was a glowing greenish crystal. That must be it, she realized, lodging the tip of her sword into the skull and prying it out. Vassanta grimaced, wiping the blood on her pants. Well, it was messy, but she didn’t think that would matter much. The old dwarf had said she’d need eight stones in all, four for each of the two portals. The innocuous-looking device in her pack would detonate when these stones were attached to it, or so he said. Vassanta was a bit skeptical, but after all, who knew explosives better than a dwarf?

She kept to the edges of the clearing, picking off demons who were roaming around on their own. The wrathguards proved to be the easiest prey, especially when she realized that she could slam them with her shield to make them lose concentration while casting their spell. She was starting to enjoy herself now, as she felled them one after the other, glad to have the chance to swing her blade again.

Vassanta rattled the eight stones in her pouch, and eyed the nearest portal. They were of dark fel iron, green steam belching from the vents. For the time being, this one was unguarded. Vassanta and her crossbow had seen to that beforehand. She stepped uncertainly closer to it, hoping that no demon would choose this moment to come through it. She arranged the four stones hastily on the swirling green floor, setting the device on end in the center. Didn’t this thing have instructions? Vassanta picked it up again, scowling, turning it over until she found what had to be the detonation switch on the end. Setting it down again, her heart racing, she crept close enough to tap the switch with the end of her sword. For a half a second, she thought that nothing would happen, but then the stones erupted in a boom of green smoke, sending smoldering chunks of the machinery into the air. Vassanta grabbed her shield and ran for it. Surely the demons would notice that.

Vassanta spent the evening in the tavern at Honor Hold, for the first time since arriving, she felt she’d accomplished enough to warrant a drink or two. The place was busy, but not with people drinking, mostly people coming in for supplies and then hurrying out again. It wasn’t exactly relaxing, but she made small talk with some of the Alliance soldiers; the dwarf appreciated the keg she had brought, and said rather wistfully that it reminded him of home. Vassanta found it strange to think that their places had been reversed not so long ago — she had been the one trapped in a strange land away from everything she knew.

“Fancy meeting you here.” She knew that voice. Vassanta turned to see Melikgaar in the doorway, grinning broadly.

Her first impulse was to hug him, but she wasn’t certain if he’d appreciate that, in a tavern full of soldiers. She waved him over to a small table, sitting close beside him. It hadn’t been so long since she had seen him, not really, but it seemed like ages ago. So much had happened in those few days. “You’re looking well,” she said, uncertain what to say. Maybe he’d had second thoughts about her? But he’d come to Honor Hold, hadn’t he?

The paladin leaned back comfortably — as comfortably as he could in the small chair — and put a hand gently on her shoulder. “So are you,” he rumbled, his eyes roaming over her.

She didn’t know why he un-nerved her so, made her feel confused and foolish. The things that came out of her mouth were not the sort of things she usually said. “I’m glad you are here,” Vassanta said quietly, leaning in against him. “I thought maybe you’d forgotten about me.”

Melikgaar blinked, and the frown made her think that she’d said the wrong thing, somehow offended him. “I could never forget about you,” he answered, brushing her hair back from her cheek.

Why was he saying those things? She couldn’t understand it, but she smiled shyly back at him. She was no one special, just another soldier, but she liked him and she would appreciate his attention as long as he was willing to give it. He leaned in closer, giving her tail a little tug, and she swatted at him playfully. “Behave yourself, or they’ll throw us out,” she snickered, coiling one of his tendrils around a finger.

But Melikgaar’s attention had shifted, and she followed his gaze curiously to the doorway. The man there stomped his boots free of the clinging red dust, and laid his crossbow down on the table. He turned to look at Vassanta, the ravager’s mandibles clicking audibly behind him.

“Do you have a sister?” Kedaar asked.

Vassanta blinked at the question. “Yeah… why?”

The hunter flicked a match into his pipe, the sweet scent of the tobacco filling the air as it caught. “We have a problem.”


End file.
